


like a wildfire (thought this love would always burn)

by bulletproofbackrubs



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Music, F/F, Inspired by Music, Music, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 18:18:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5426993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bulletproofbackrubs/pseuds/bulletproofbackrubs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when two years after Chloe moving to New York and Beca to L.A, one of them decides they have changed their minds. </p><p>Based off the song Wildfire by Marianas Trench.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like a wildfire (thought this love would always burn)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poeticalramblings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poeticalramblings/gifts).



> I've been wanting to write this for a long time because EVERY time I listen to this song I just get slapped in the face with Bechloe feels for some reason. So I decided to share them with you.
> 
> Come yell about these nerds with me on tumblr: becafknmitchell

_Sitting alone in a tiny room  
Waiting for dawn it should be breaking soon_

She’s always been an early riser. Chloe Beale was “one of those morning people”, a label Beca Mitchell had, disapprovingly, trademarked her with that day when Chloe had knocked at her door at 7am for their first Bella’s practice. There had been a toothy grin so bright on Chloe’s face that it had made Beca squint, as though the warm light Chloe _always_ seemed to radiate was almost too much to look at.

 

Months later, at a time when the sun was going down instead of coming up, Beca had whispered to Chloe that it -- _she_ \-- was never too much, but …overwhelming. At least at first. Beca had never met anyone like Chloe before, she’d explained. But there, sitting with their legs hanging over the side of the empty pool, knees occasionally knocking, Beca had thought that she would never soak up enough of Chloe’s warmth, despite the fact she always found herself trying to absorb **all** of it. Thought it, and then said it out loud, the words echoing across the pool and back to Chloe’s ears and settling inside of her like leaves floating and landing on the ground. Soft and fragile, but so very real.

 

They had stayed awake talking, flitting between mindless chatter and breath-stealing laughs to hushed tones and confessions, until Chloe had decided Beca was becoming delirious from lack of sleep judging by her uncontrollable giggles. And Chloe had went to bed at 3am with her eyes stinging for sleep and her heart lightly beating at an eerily similar rhythm to Beca’s earlier laughter. Still, she had woken early enough to see the ambers blending to azures in the sky, sun casting a hazy glow over the town. It always took Chloe’s breath away, the sunrise. So yes, Chloe was in fact, “one of those morning people”, and wouldn’t dream of missing _this,_ even after only having 3 hours sleep.

At least, that’s what she had thought back then.

 

But the last two years, Chloe had opted for sleeping with her head buried under the safety of her feathery quilt until the sun was obnoxiously beaming through her apartment window, as if to taunt her that she now absolutely _had_ to get up and go to work. For almost two years exactly, Chloe hadn’t seen a single sunrise.

 

Or Beca Mitchell.

 

However, on this particular morning, both those elements were about to complicate the new “simple and safe” New-York-routine she had developed over the years.

\-------------------

She’s not sure why exactly she woke up at 5am today, but she had. And Chloe tossed and turned for the next thirty minutes, willing her body to relax and sleep. Pulled the comforter up over her head, a plea to keep her safe until getting out of bed was an inevitability. 

 

Her body betrayed her though, and Chloe’s never been one to deny herself what she so obviously wants.

 

Except in some cases, but Chloe doesn’t think about _that_.

 

Today, her body clearly wants coffee and to **not** sleep. So, albeit begrudgingly, she pushes herself out of bed. She showers quickly, half-heartedly applying makeup just so she doesn’t look _too_ exhausted at work, puts on her white shirt and black fitted blazer and sets off for the nearest 24-hour coffee shop, hair still slightly wet.

 

Hands wrapped around her mug of cappuccino-with-two-sweeteners, she sits by the window. And waits. The sky is still navy at its edges, but Chloe can see the glow of saffron creeping upwards. For the first time in such a long time, Chloe felt her breath leave her easily and her chest felt less tight. And she remembered exactly why she used to willingly get out of bed to see this.

 

Despite _this_ casual break in her New-York-routine, Chloe doesn’t expect this next thing to happen, throwing another card in the mix and essentially changing the outcome of her game plan.

 

 _This_ being sitting in the same coffee shop and coming face to face with Beca Mitchell. Her _game plan_ being to avoid anything and everything that reminded her of said woman, and move on. Forget.

 

Which is, now, kind of impossible to do when Beca Mitchell herself is standing, eyes wide in doe-like surprise and what she _knows_ is an unsweetened cinnamon latte with an extra shot of espresso in one hand.

 

Apparently, forgetting isn’t a skill in this game Chloe had learned to perfect yet.

_\------------_

_I know where you are_  
_And I know where you've been_  
_But I never thought we would be here again_

It was almost unbelievable, the situation in front of her. The sun finally rising and casting that familiar hazy glow on Beca’s brown hair. Beca. Who was supposed to be in L.A. and living her own life. Chloe never, not once, thought she would be in this situation ever again.

 

But as unbelievable as it might seem, it was undeniable. Beca Mitchell was standing in front of her table, eyes flicking to the floor as she brushed the hair behind her ear in that bashful but charming way. Which was the way Beca did pretty much everything. An image that was, apparently, permanently branded onto the edges of Chloe’s memory. She remembered it all, every little detail.

 

Chloe was not very good at committing to her game plan.

 

And because of that, and also because she hasn’t seen her in two years, and has missed her with **every** fibre of her being, Chloe is up and out of her seat, arms encircling Beca’s waist tightly before Beca can even open her mouth to speak.

 

“Hi there,” Beca chuckles nervously, and a moment passes before she returns the hug, standing on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around Chloe’s neck and bury her face in her shoulder.

 

At the feel of it, Beca’s hands between her shoulder blades and her breath on her neck, Chloe is at all at once terrified and euphoric. Which is pretty much how Chloe always -- _had_ always -- felt around Beca. She’s thrown a little by the sheer force those feelings come back, that Beca’s effect is still prevalent after an entire two years. But she can’t gather her thoughts enough right now to try and sort those feelings out.

 

Instead, she just rocks backwards, but only a little so she is still able to grip Beca’s shoulders. One of Beca’s hands reaches up and holds Chloe’s elbow, the other still holding her coffee. For a few seconds they just stand there, smiling softly at one another until the weight of the situation and the electric blue of Beca’s eyes becomes too heavy for Chloe to handle any longer.

 

“Hi.” It comes out higher and less composed than she’d have preferred when speaking to her best friend (friend? ex-best friend? ex-lover? ex- _something?_ ) in two years. But Beca only smiles wider, face splitting into a fully blown grin as though she’s _happy_ to see Chloe. And Chloe feels the wilting but ever-present leaves in her chest flutter as if ruffled by the wind.

\------------

 _You say that you're lost and need to find yourself_  
_Can't do that with me, but with somebody else_  
_You say you're still here_  
_But you've found a new home_  
_I say that's a nice way to say I'm alone_

“May I?” Beca asks meekly, gesturing towards the seat opposite Chloe’s forgotten coffee.

 

“Of **course.** ”

 

Because _of course_ Chloe wants to talk to Beca. Even if her throat feels like she’s trying to swallow marbles and the leaves in her chest are blowing like they’re in hurricane winds.

 

When Beca asks how Chloe has been, she doesn’t really know how to answer. Doesn’t really know anything anymore. So she just tells Beca about her job at the record label, and that she’s happy there because even if she’s not hands-on involved with the music, at least she’s involved with the company and might get to that part at some point.

 

Beca assures her that she **will** , undoubtedly. Chloe blushes and sips her coffee.

 

Eventually, Chloe asks Beca the dreaded questions that’s been plaguing her since the moment she noticed Beca’s earrings. Made her presence seem all the more real.

 

“So, what are you doing here?”

 

Beca sighs, like she’s been expecting it, which she probably has been if Chloe knows how Beca’s mind works.

 

She _knows_ she does.

 

Before answering, Beca takes a sip of her coffee and Chloe tries desperately not to watch the way her tongue runs across her lips to catch any remaining liquid and also to prepare herself. It’s a futile effort really, because she watches anyway and feels the urge to squeeze her eyes shut at the memories of Beca that are flooding from the shadows of her mind to her bright conscious.

 

“I, uh… L.A. is a big place. Even bigger than I’d anticipated.” She shifts uncomfortably, and Chloe inwardly winces in sympathy noticing how tired Beca looked.

 

She tries not to worry about the fact that she probably looks a hundred times worse.

 

“And, well, as you used to kindly remind me every single day, I am quite a small person,” which makes them share a shaky chuckle. “Small person. Big city. It’s quite easy to lose yourself in the madness, I guess.”

 

“Oh, it sounds lonely.” Beca just shrugs, eyes boring into her coffee. “I’m sorry it wasn’t what you expected. Are you… are you here for good, then?” Chloe prays it didn’t sound too hopeful, because she honestly has no room in her myriad of emotions for that anymore.

 

“Um, no. I still, technically, live in L.A. But I’m here. Now. Trying to find myself again, I guess. Which, _God,_ that sounded so cheeseballs.”

 

Chloe laughs, then, because it’s _so_ Beca, and because despite That Thing That Happened which she does not think about, she is happy to see her. And she knows it’s probably dangerous to let herself feel about this – Beca herself had just said her home was in L.A. – but, as always with Beca Mitchell, Chloe has no control over her feelings.

 

 _When did we both get so afraid to speak though_  
_I thought we got each other's hearts_  
_So I pushed you away through_  
_Hurting myself to live with it_

_I don't know how we could ever let this transpire  
You know I thought this love would always burn like a wildfire_

Because Chloe certainly _did not_ choose to fall in love with Beca Mitchell. Definitely not. There was nothing voluntary about it. Aubrey had warned her not to get herself roped into the unexpected, unpredictable and occasionally exasperating riddle that was Beca herself, and Chloe had agreed. Had wanted to keep a solid visible line between the friends and more-than-friends boundaries. But, looking back, Chloe doesn’t think that line was ever there to begin with. Had inevitably ended up immersed in the depths of definitely-not-just-friends.

 

The surprising part, or at least to Chloe, was that so had Beca.

 

What was even more surprising, was that Aubrey was supportive about, well, the two of them, whatever they were. Approving, almost. When Chloe asked her about it, months after Beca had left for L.A., Aubrey had said that, while she may have been wary about this at first, predicted **this** very outcome, at the time she just couldn’t find it in her to disapprove. Said she’d never seen two people so blindly in love and in awe of one another. The amount that Beca had loved Chloe, well, who was Aubrey to argue with that? It had been beautiful to witness.

 

Which is why now, Chloe can’t understand why she’s so afraid to talk to the same woman sitting in front of her now. Maybe it was the fresh new freckles on her nose, most likely from the California sun. A reminder of Beca’s new life. A life without Chloe.

 

Or maybe it was the way she was tapping her fingers restlessly against her coffee cup, as if her body was just thrumming with bass and beat that just had to get out. A reminder of Beca herself, who had loved, possibly still loved, Chloe. Beca who, despite the freckles, doesn’t seem to have changed one bit.

 

“Dude, you look….” Chloe holds her breath while Beca figures out her next words (taking a _century,_ as usual), but can’t hold back a smile when she finishes, “…awesome,” tossing a hand towards Chloe’s work attire.

 

And frankly, Chloe hates the awkwardness that seems to have transpired between them. Beca was her **best** friend. A thing that will always be more important than, whatever they had been after that. And she hates herself for ever letting it get to this point. Thinks, and not for the first time, that maybe she had been just too overwhelming for her. Pushed her away from loving her too forcefully.

 

Or maybe, it wasn’t like that at all. Time is a fickle thing, but the air around them felt as thick and static, thrilling in a way that Chloe had never felt around anyone else, as it always did with Beca. She’s not surprised that it still feels like this, and thinks maybe, by the rosiness of Beca’s cheeks and the fact that she keeps holding eye contact for a touch too long, that maybe she feels it too.

 

So, she takes a breath and hopes for the best. Hopes to clear away the fog and fears in her mind and just **enjoy** the fact that Beca is here, for however long. She is here, and she’s still Beca, even if Beca thinks she’s lost herself a little bit. Chloe sees her like she always has. Breaktakingly beautiful and charmingly awkward.

 

“Yeah, well. I’m pretty confident about all this.”

 

Behind the navy blue of Beca’s eyes, Chloe can see a combination of amusement and embarrassment. Watches the corners of her mouth twitch up even though she can practically _feel_ Beca trying to hold it in. But it escapes into a full blown laugh, and the leaves in Chloe’s chest float around in a soft summer wind.

 

 _So now you show up when you're alone again_  
_But we haven't changed, but now you're interested_  
_And maybe you're here because you wanna come home_  
_But what if you're just afraid to be alone_  
  
_I guess I don't know how_  
_You'd want it back now_  
_I thought you got yourself a way out_  
_How do I prove it to myself you're ready now_  
_God I want to_

Their laughter, and the ripples it makes across their preferred choices of coffee, is another reminder that neither of them had changed. Even though Beca had been feeling lost and Chloe had been feeling empty, whatever **it** was between them was still strong and intact, even after two years.

 

Which is what pushes Chloe to hesitatingly ask Beca if she wants to come for dinner at her apartment later. Beca’s enthusiastic nod, and sigh of what sounds like relief, makes Chloe happier than she probably would care to admit.

 

\--------

When she opens the door at 7pm to a black skinny jeans and blazer clad Beca Mitchell, the air leaves Chloe’s lungs in a rush. Her busy day at work, and the early morning she had gotten used to _not_ having, had made Chloe question whether this morning really happened. Or whether exhaustion had played a sick trick and caused her to imagine the whole thing.

 

But those deep blue smoky eyes were on the other side of the door, running over Chloe’s form appreciatively. Making her nervous, letting her know for sure that this situation was positively happening.

 

“Hi there.”

 

When, exactly it is that Beca pushes Chloe against the door and presses her lips firmly to Chloe’s, she really isn’t sure. If, she had a single coherent thought in her head at that point, Chloe would hedge a guess it was probably in the same moment she had stepped aside to let Beca in. But she doesn’t.

 

Because all the can think, feel and taste is Beca. Her hands on Chloe’s waist between her hips and ribcage, the hint of her coconut chapstick and the nutty aroma of her hair. After a too quick moment, all this starts to sink away, and Chloe snaps out of her surprise to realize it’s because Beca is moving away, and when she opens her eyes her face looks apologetic.

 

And Chloe is having _none_ of that.

 

So she pushes herself off the door and back towards Beca, cupping her face and threading her fingertips through the hair at the nape of her neck. Doesn’t think once, that maybe this is a bad idea, because the noise that it pulls from Beca’s throat suggests it’s the complete opposite of a bad idea. They stumble into the bedroom without exchanging a word (not counting the exhales of expletives or mutterings of names).

 

Later, though, when there are purple marks adorning her throat (not to mention the ones on Beca’s hips and thighs) when Chloe has regained feeling in her legs and the ability to think straight, she’s able to ask the question. “Why?”  
  
Beca is so silent, and if it wasn’t for her still irregular breathing against Chloe’s collarbone, Chloe would have thought she was asleep. Beca reaches down and clasps Chloe’s hand, the one that she didn’t know was tangling and twisting nervously in the sheets until Beca’s fingers were pulling them away.

 

As she speaks, Beca strokes Chloe’s thumb with her own, voice a mix of gravelly tones and self-conscious shakes that makes Chloe’s insides spiral.

 

“I’m, um…. I don’t want to live in L.A. anymore.”

 

“I thought you said –“

 

“—I know what I said. But I was going to take some time here. Think about coming back. I also wanted to talk to you first.”

 

And now, Chloe doesn’t know what to say, couldn’t even if she did. It was just all so very confusing. Sensing her nerves, Beca squeezes Chloe’s hand and it tugs her back down. Into the reality of Beca being next to her, again, by choice. But still she’s so confused. “So, what changed?”

 

“Seeing you, earlier. That was enough. I didn’t need to think about it after that.”

 

Chloe’s heart _aches_ now, something she’d learned to not feel in the past two years. But now, it felt like the leaves were being crushed and crumbled into an unfathomable mess in a similar way to her thoughts.

 

Just, _no._ Chloe had not prepared for this. Come to terms with the fact that this would not happen **months** ago. The first few weeks had been hell in hoping for Beca to come back and say that she didn’t want to leave Chloe. That they could find themselves together, and that _no, she did not need space after all._

 

The thing is, that as much as Chloe loved, still very much **loves** Beca, she had gotten used to Beca not loving her back anymore. She had her New-York-routine, gotten a job on her own and a well furnished apartment. It had taken her this long to get used to being alone, and Chloe’s not sure if she could do that all over again.

 

She’s not even sure _Beca_ wants to do this all over again. How could she be? Just 14 hours ago, Beca had been telling her that it was lonely in L.A. That she still lived there, implied that she intended to go back.

 

“But… L.A? You wanted to go there. You always have, Beca. It was your way out, your escape to be who you wanted.” And Chloe’s trying really hard not to cry. Because now she’s remembering That Thing That Happened even though she never thinks about it. And Beca is holding her hand tightly and everything is just so confusing and she knows what she **wants** but doesn’t think it can ever be so.

 

Before any more tears can escape, Beca unlocks their fingers and pushes herself up until she’s straddling Chloe’s hips (still only wearing black laced underwear, which really, does _nothing_ to help Chloe’s sorting-out-her-thoughts situation). Her hands cover Chloe’s cheeks, so it is impossible for Chloe to look anywhere but Beca. Warm, calloused fingers brush under Chloe’s eyes which close in response, wiping away any tears that Chloe didn’t manage to hold in.

 

“Yeah, I wanted to go. And now I’ve been, and I don’t want to go back. I can’t be myself over there. It isn’t the place I would ever call **home.** ”

 

Beca is looking at Chloe so intently, that she daren’t say anything. Her hands tentatively come to rest on Beca’s knees either side of her hips while her eyes stay focused on Beca’s. “I can be myself with you. Whenever I think about going home it’s always to you. So. That’s why,” she finishes with a half-shrug, but still not looking away from Chloe.

_Maybe this time it could work_  
_If our need is dire_  
_Maybe our future's so bright it fucking burns like a wildfire_  
_Like a wildfire_

And yes, even though Chloe has been waiting two years for Beca to say those words, that doesn’t make her any less scared when she finally hears them. Her chest hurts so much that she’s not sure if it’s pain or happiness, or if she wants to laugh or cry. Or a messy combination of both.

 

“Beca, I need you to be sure. You need to know for sure that this is what you want, because I… I can’t…”

 

“Hey.” Beca’s hands slip from Chloe’s face and to the curls of her hair, twirling and tugging them lightly eliciting a pleasant shiver up Chloe’s spine. “I’m sure. I want you back, and never ever want to be that fucking stupid again.” It sounds like Beca might cry, now, and Chloe is just feeling so much that she doesn’t know where to put it.

 

She decides to push herself up, and tries to put all of it onto Beca’s mouth. Tries to show her how much she’s missed her and just how much she wants that too. Wants to kiss her until she stops crying and is filled with nothing but elation. Hands sliding up her thighs and around her waist. Beca’s hands find Chloe’s shoulders and try to pull her impossibly closer.

 

They’re touching **everywhere** and it burns, white-hot against their skin and fire behind their eyelids. But all they can feel is raw and untainted love.


End file.
